Even if for the first time in a long while…
I’m not sure I believe it.
Episode 11: Once Upon a Dream
I expected Courtland to be more flexible.
I don’t know why.
A person’s personality has very little to do with their ability to stretch their muscles, but he is decidedly tight. And very unbalanced.
So much so that I spend most of the “class” nudging him into position, supporting his form, helping him stretch just a little deeper. It's natural for me. In the beginner classes I teach, it's something I have to do frequently. Making sure my students have the form right so they don’t learn bad habits.
Unfortunately, this means I spend a lot of time touching him, sliding my hands onto his hips to pull them back, pressing gently between his shoulder blades to help keep them straight.
And touching Courtland feels very different from touching other omegas.
Very different.
I try to keep it professional, I really do, but I’m only human and he’s an alpha. One that my omega is very interested in despite my better judgement. So by the time I’ve guided my small, impromptu class into savasana—corpse pose—I’m feeling more than a little warm and wet between my thighs. Which would be embarrassing if not for the unmistakable bulge pressing against the flimsy fabric of Courtland’s basketball shorts, declaring he’d found our yoga session just as arousing as I did.
The other omegas, including the ones that had scoffed at my yoga practice, have shut up. If anything I felt their derision melt into jealousy as they watched me get up close and personal with Court.
Of course, it's only a matter of time before this too becomes twisted into some form of manipulation on my part. As if he didn’t approach me and ask that I teach him how to do yoga.
Court smiles up at me from his mat, hands resting on his stomach. “That was a lot harder than I thought it would be.”
I shrug and move to my empty mat, grabbing a cleaning spray and automatically going through the motions of wiping it down. “Most people underestimate just how hard, especially for beginners. But if you stick with it, it’ll get easier, you’ll go a little deeper on the stretches, have more stability in the standing poses.”
He rolls into a sitting position and holds out his hand for my cleaning supplies, which I hand over skeptically.
He laughs. “I’m perfectly capable of wiping down a yoga mat, pixie.”
And he is… kind of. I resist the urge to correct his method, and just let it be, mentally making a note of the mat so I cancome back and do it later. It's not that he’s doing it wrong, it's more that I’m very particular about cleaning yoga mats. I have a specific way I like them to be done. Which is not the haphazard swiping he’s currently employing.
I bite back a smile as Court continues his very earnest, very incorrect mat-cleaning technique. “You’re going to leave streaks,” I tell him, unable to help myself.
He looks up at me, green eyes bright with amusement. “You’re very bossy for someone who just spent the last forty-five minutes folding me into a human pretzel and urging me to let go of things that no longer serve me.”
“That was for your own good,” I counter primly, rolling up my own yoga mat and stowing it on the shelf. “You’d seize up like a rusted hinge otherwise. Besides, cleanliness serves everyone.”
He laughs, pushing to his feet with a groan that’s half exaggerated. “I feel excellent, thank you very much. Enlightened. Aligned. In tune with my body.” He rolls his shoulders, then winces. “Okay, maybe not in tune. But I’m working on it.”
I shake my head, reaching for my water bottle and taking a sip. “You’re impossible.”
“And yet,” he says lightly, stepping closer, voice dropping just a touch, “you didn’t seem to mind touching me.”
Heat crawls up my neck. “I was correcting your posture.”
“Mm.” His gaze dips, unapologetic, to the swells of my breasts over the constricting sports bra, before dragging back up. “Very thoroughly.”
Before I can retort, his hand closes around my wrist—gentle, warm, utterly confident. Not pulling, exactly. More like guiding.
“Come on,” he says, already turning us both. “I promised myself I’d stop monopolizing you.”
“I don’t remember agreeing to that,” I mutter, but I follow anyway, my feet carrying me across the sun-warmed deck.
He grins over his shoulder. “You didn’t have to. I made the decision for both of us.”
